


slice of rest

by dancinghopper



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Winchester Has a Good Day, Established Relationship, IT'S HIS BIRTHDAY!!!!!!! (or it was when i wrote this), M/M, because its what he deserves!!!!!!, featuring a proposal. dean cooking. jack watching riverdale. found family, found. family., i also just saw the tag dean has a bad day so u know what no fuck you, let me repeat the last
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:27:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29298126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancinghopper/pseuds/dancinghopper
Summary: “You,” says Dean, when Cas doesn’t say anything. The word comes out a little fumbled, so he licks his lips and tries again. “You— okay. You get it, right? Like. Don't just do your thing where you pretend to be totally clueless about human stuff, 'cause— you know, right? When it is people take each other's last names?"Cas, the bastard, just squints at him. Dry as anything, he says, "I believe it often occurs as part of marriage."or; cas fills out paperwork. dean cooks dinner. somewhere in between they get married.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Comments: 49
Kudos: 315





	slice of rest

**Author's Note:**

> this came to me in a dream on dean’s birthday <3
> 
> im only on s6 so this is a fun limbo-esque amalgamation of stuff ive picked up from my tumblr mutuals and fics. particularly noteworthy points of reference are [this](https://minor-mendings.tumblr.com/post/638319096636833792/dean-to-a-new-acquaintance-this-is-my-buddy) and [this](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27185362) (to which i owe mia vallens). i also cant find the post about jack and cas watching riverdale but its from a script so it’s canon. sometimes a baby floats <3
> 
> respect to u guys who write dean and cas settling down and getting hitched in a normal way but dean and cas have literally never been normal in their lives so i think they're weird about it. this is still super sappy though

The Bluebird Diner Dean’s sitting in is a pretty nice joint, and Dean’s sat in enough of them to know. It’s the kind of place that tries really hard to seem like it’s been around a while, with old style posters on the wall and a jukebox in the corner, but it’s betrayed by the shiny new floors and undamaged plaster that screams _just been renovated_. There aren’t even any dirty words scratched into the tables.

That last one’s kind of disappointing, actually — Dean likes a place with character — but the food’s good (and cheap) enough that he guesses he’ll forgive it. It’s also only half an hour out from home, and that admittedly counts for a lot of points in its favour. It’s the perfect driving distance for him and Cas to venture to pretty frequently. Like today.

Dean dips a thick-cut fry in tomato sauce and stuffs it in his mouth, glancing around the place. They have a _table_ , now, and Dean never thought he’d end up the kind of person who had a regular order, let alone a booth. He probably wouldn’t bother with it if it weren’t for the old hunter instincts that make him jittery if the exits aren’t in his sights, but the novelty is kind of nice regardless. Although, thinks Dean, looking at Cas opposite him, getting arrested for credit card fraud seems to be becoming less and less likely. A hasty retreat doesn’t look like it’s gonna be needed.

“Yes, that’s right,” says Cas, dully into his phone, and Dean nudges his knee with his under the table in sympathy. Cas turns his long-suffering gaze on him, which Dean grins at, and pushes the fries over to him. He minds the paperwork strewn about as he does so, and Cas takes one. He sighs out his personal details to the service worker, the fifth time in twenty minutes, and Dean winces. This is why he lives illegally.

“This is why I live illegally,” Dean jokes, and Cas glares at him. He holds the phone away from his ear slightly, cupping his hand over the receiver, and says:

“I’m on the phone, Dean.”

Dean grins at him, because he does shit like that now. He eats three fries at a time, talking around them in a way that makes Cas wrinkle his nose, and ask himself why the hell he lets Dean kiss him. Since Dean knows the answer to that pretty well, he’s not offended. “You’re ruining our date, man.”

“I was under the impression we came here specifically so I could complete this without letting my ‘bad vibes’ ‘ruin your Wednesday’.”

He doesn’t do the finger quotes anymore, but Dean knows that inflection of his voice. “Yeah, yeah, alright, stop quoting me.”

Cas gives him a look, satisfied that he’s won, the fucker. Then he tunes back into the phone and grumbles, exasperated. “They put me on hold again.”

“I keep telling you,” says Dean. Cas puts the phone on speaker, the volume turned down so it won’t disturb the other patrons, but loud enough that he doesn’t need to hold it to his ear, and looks around hopefully for the waitress. Maybe she senses his overall dejectedness, because she appears with perfect timing holding two burgers, smiling at them both in a way that shows she recognises them, and knows how big a tip she’s about to get (they might as well use the fraud for a good cause, after all).

“Thanks, Marie,” says Dean, taking them off her so she doesn’t have to wait while Cas piles his papers off to the side. With a promise to call if they need anything, she heads back to the register, and Dean puts the food in front of them. Four minutes then have to be sacrificed to the initial taste-test of the burger, since it’s a new one to Dean, and gratuitous comments about the quality that Cas listens to with a smile, brightening up for the first time since he got on the phone with American Services.

“How far along are you?” asks Dean eventually, and pushes his plate over without comment so Cas can try his burger. He cuts off a bit with his knife and fork, which is what he’s using to eat his own so he doesn’t greasy up his official new documents, and Dean would honestly be offended if it were anyone else, because cutlery and burgers shouldn’t even go in the same _sentence_ , but it’s Cas, so. He’s mostly just endeared. Cas sighs.

“I am third in the queue,” he recites. The sea shanty inspired holding music is still drifting out from his phone. He makes a pleased face at the taste of Dean’s burger, and dutifully offers his own, still talking. “Did I ever tell you, that when Crowley first redesigned hell, he devised an infinite waiting line?”

Dean picks Cas’s burger up with his hand, because he’s not an idiot, and takes a bite— it’s pretty good. The mayonnaise runs down his fingers so he licks it off when he’s done, and Cas makes a resigned sort of face that suggests he’s maybe reconsidering their arrangement. Relationship. _Life-Partnership_ (Sam’s suggestion, and yeah, it sure as hell _was_ a micro-aggression). Whatever counts as a non-weird way to put it. Dean picks up his napkin and sends him a look, like, _you happy now?_ , and Cas sends him one back that says _always, Dean_. He smiles down at the table.

“I have decided,” continues Cas, hardly skipping a beat as Dean lets that familiar warm feeling wrap around his chest, “that he was correct. Waiting in a queue is a supreme form of torture.”

“You got that right,” says Dean, returning to his own meal. He shifts a little, tucks his foot up next to Cas’ under the table, and asks the question that’s been bothering him a while, gesturing with a fry. “Why are you doing this, man?”

Cas looks up at him. “Legal documentation is a requirement for human beings.”

 _Yeah, be cute,_ thinks Dean, and tries to lower his tone to just curious rather than judgy. He’s not up to dealing with wilfully-misunderstanding-people-on-purpose Cas today, not when he’s in such a good mood. “Cas,” he says, “Come on, you know what I meant. Why aren’t we just letting Charlie whip something up?”

Cas hesitates. “I want to do it properly,” he says. “The human way. It’s important to me. I don’t know why.”

That’s good enough for Dean. “Okay,” he says, and he knows his face must be doing something, because there’s this bright ball of light in his chest, and it feels kind of like the way Cas describes his soul sometimes, and also Cas has an expression that suggests he can see it. He presses their knees together once more. “Okay, man.”

The moment lingers, but then, when don’t they? Dean breaks it by cracking another smile, since they come easier and easier these days, have done for a while, and then nods at the paperwork stacked beneath Cas’ phone, which has now switched to classical tunes. It’s marginally better than the sea shanties.

“So, I guess you had to pick a last name, huh?” Dean says, breaking up his burger with some fries and a pull of his beer. “What d’ya choose? Novak?”

The stack of papers Dean nods at are all genuine Winchester forgeries, since for all of Cas’ desire to get as much paperwork as he can legally, they don’t exactly hand stuff like birth certificates out. A couple are also owed to Charlie and her wizardry, anything that was going to be too hard for them to come by, though Dean’s not sure which exact forms are there. He mostly let Sam handle it; forging papers is way too lame when the alternative is teaching Jack to do a U-turn. That’s a life skill.

“Hm?” says Cas, pretending to be focused on cutting his next helping of burger, which, combined with the carefully even tone, makes Dean instantly suspicious. “Oh, that. No. I spoke to Claire, but we didn’t feel it would be right. Sam suggested Winchester.”

Dean nearly chokes on his food. The only reason he doesn’t is because he’s used to being in dangerous situations, and tried to train himself out of the response so he didn’t end up some monster’s dinner because he was too busy getting killed by his own. He puts the burger down as he tries to absorb this new information. Castiel needed a last name. Sam suggested Winchester.

 _Sam_ suggested—?

“You,” says Dean. “Huh. And. Uh. What did you. What did you go with, in the end?”

Cas’ eyebrows furrow. It means he feels Dean is being deliberately obtuse, which Dean resents. _Cas_ is the one pretending to be naïve about human culture so he doesn’t have to deal with the fallout right now, so if anyone’s _obtuse_ —

“I went with Winchester,” Cas says.

Dean blue-screens.

Or, okay, cards on the table— no he doesn’t. Or maybe he does. But it’s not— he’s not _stupid_. He and Cas have been doing this— this _thing_ for a while now, ages, so it doesn’t exactly come as a shock. Hell, he’s _thought_ about it. Not necessarily consciously, because, you know, he’s man enough to admit that he has some hang-ups about this kind of thing, and thinking it’s all gonna get inevitably taken away from him (and unlike most people he has a _wealth_ of evidence to back this up, and actually, that’s really _not_ a train of thought he wants to go down right now. He’ll save that stuff for his chats with Mia Vallens, thanks), but _still_. He thought he’d get a chance to _ask_. He didn’t think he’d be proposing through _Sam_.

“Oh,” says Dean, dumbly, and Cas looks up, and then, _and then_ , in a moment that makes Dean seriously panic that Chuck might still be out there pulling the strings, Cas gets taken off hold.

“ _Hi, this is Zana, am I speaking with Castiel?”_ echoes tinnily out of the phone, and a muscle in Cas’ jaw twitches as he picks it up, resuming his terrifying expedition into the world of bureaucracy. Dean swallows. At least it gives him a moment to think. He wipes his hands on his napkin (because never let it be said he ever did nothing for Cas), and tugs the paperwork over to his side of the table, ignoring the look Cas shoots him.

_Castiel Winchester._

_Right_ , thinks Dean, faintly, _okay_.

He holds the paper between his fingers, and it’s the cheap stuff they put in the printer so it’s kind of shiny-feeling, not like the rough stuff he’s used to finding in books, and he looks down at the words printed right there in black and white, his ears buzzing. He feels numb. He feels _nothing_. He feels Cas’ fingertips press gently to the back of his hand.

When he pulls his gaze up from the page, Cas is concerned, a wrinkle between his eyebrows that Dean instinctively wants to smooth away. _You’re panicking_.

He shakes his head. _I’m not_.

Cas raises one eyebrow. Dean eats a fry to emphasise how absolutely not panicked he is. Cas rolls his eyes, and goes back to being absorbed in the phone, rattling off his drivers licence number and bank details. Now Dean thinks of it, maybe they shouldn’t have done this in a public place, but then again— they were out of bacon and due for a drive, and it’s not like there’s anyone sitting near enough to hear, anyway. He glances down at the paperwork again.

He’s not panicking.

He might be jealous.

That’s stupid, obviously. He can’t be jealous of his own _boyfriend_. But he might be a little jealous that this has all come about in the wrong order. Or— hell, is it even jealousy? Dean’s not so good at _feelings_ , alright, he’s repressed them all long enough that they all just kind of blur together. He’s not _used_ to naming and shaming ‘em (well, the shaming bit, yeah, but— _Jesus Christ_ , thinks Dean, suddenly, cutting his thoughts off, can he not have five fucking minutes of peace? Has his every line of thought gotta circle back round to his own goddamn issues? This is the therapy’s fault, he’ll bet anything. Fucking _Sam_ and his _ideas_ ). But anyway, whatever this thing in his chest is, it’s ugly and marred and also quite a lot in love with Cas, but that’s basically a given.

 _Winchester_.

Cas is on the phone for at least another fifteen minutes, not helped along by the fact that he’s trying to navigate speaking into the phone _and_ using the internet to set up some kind of online account, which neither of them knew you could even do until six weeks back, when Claire showed them. It had been accompanied by an unflattering joke that Dean now chooses to ignore, instead focusing on the memory of her pissed-off expression when he messed up her hair in retaliation. She’d laughed at him, though; that was a win.

The ugly feeling has settled somewhat into something a bit more forgiving. Dean watches the man he’s raising a kid with battle the American legal system, feels his edges soften out, and tries not to look as stupid in love as he feels when Cas eventually extracts himself from his conversation with the woman on the phone, a pleased look on his face. “Well?”

“They’re going to mail it to me,” says Cas, delighted, and Dean grins, feeling his eyes crinkle at the corners. Cas grins back, and Dean finds he doesn’t even mind about the last name thing. Cas chose it. He’ll take that any day.

“Dean,” says Cas, soft, but they’re interrupted by Marie bringing the bill, as if they haven’t had enough of those for one lifetime. As if their whole story ( _wait, no, too chick-flick_ )— romance ( _eurgh, that’s worse)_ — uh, _shebang_ hasn’t been just one long series of interruptions, even if Marie is one of the nicer ones.

On the positive, though, thinks Dean as Cas makes small talk, at least he can stomach the interruptions now he knows for sure they’ll be resumed.

“I’ll sign,” says Cas, eager, apparently, to take his new legally-sound identity for a spin. Dean puts his chin in his hand and hopes valiantly that he doesn’t look like a thirteen-year-old girl gazing besottedly at her Justin Timberlake poster. Cas removes a fountain pen from his pocket and takes the bill and Dean knows that he’s failing, but he also doesn’t really care; that bright light feeling is back.

Cas signs his name with a flourish, all fancy handwriting that seems to be a by-product of all that Enochian, and Marie whistles approvingly, taking back her notepad and examining it.

“You got a nice hand, Mr. Winchester,” she says, and _that_ does it. Cas gives her a pleased smile, ignorant entirely of the fact that Dean is about to burst into flames.

“Thank you.” To Dean, he says; “We should be going. I promised Jack we could watch the new _Riverdale_.”

“Yeah,” croaks Dean. He clears his throat. “Good to see ya, Marie.”

They leave the diner shoulder to shoulder, and the livewire under Dean’s skin really _is_ gonna trip and blast them to hell if he doesn’t do _something_ , so he wraps his hand round Cas’ as soon as they’re out the door. Cas doesn’t even blink; he just sends Dean this small smile of acknowledgement, then goes back to admiring the sunny sky. Dean tries to calm his breathing.

He doesn’t put a tape in the Impala’s deck for the way back. They didn’t put one in earlier, happy to just sit in each other’s company, but with all the feelings jumping around inside Dean right now, he sure is feeling the itch for a distraction. Some heavy drums’ll do it, but he doesn’t want Cas to think he needs one. He doesn’t want Cas to— to think that he’s panicking. Because he still isn’t. Or at least not about— the thing. It might be thing-adjacent, but it’s not, ah. _The_ thing.

Dean makes it fifteen minutes. They’ve got to drive back along the highway to get home, and the sudden thought that he’s going to have to just _deal_ with this with other people around, because it’s not just Jack but Sam and Eileen staying with them right now, is too much. Dean can’t. Not when he’s got Cas _right here_.

“Fuck,” hisses Dean, under his breath. He checks his mirror and indicates to pull over, rolling the car to a stop just off the side of the road. “Fuck, alright, let’s just. Let’s—”

He kills the engine, taking a shaky breath. They’re next to a field. That’s nice. Cas gives him an apprehensive look. “Dean—?”

Dean gets out of the car, gravel crunching under his boots. He makes it round to Cas’ side just as Cas decides to follow suit, pulling himself out of the car and to his feet. He closes the door behind him. Dean’s blood is _humming_.

“You,” says Dean, when Cas doesn’t say _anything_. The word comes out a little fumbled, so he licks his lips and tries again. “You— okay. You get it, right? Like. Don't just do your thing where you pretend to be totally clueless about human stuff, 'cause— you know, right? You get it?”

Cas blinks, and yeah, he is _so_ bullshitting him. “Get what?” 

“Dude,” says Dean. Cas does look a little contrite under Dean's glare, and shuffles on his feet.

"Sorry," he says. Dean wonders if Cas really believed he was just gonna let this all coast under the radar, if that's why he's trying to avoid it. As if. 

“Thanks,” says Dean, and then loses his brief stint in coherency. “So, uh, I mean, you know, right? You know when it is that, uh— that people take each other’s last names?”

Cas, the bastard, just squints at him. Dry as anything, he says, “I believe it often occurs as part of marriage.”

 _You are such an idiot_ , thinks Dean, hopelessly. _I am so fucking in love with you_.

When he can’t get his voice to work, Cas fiddles with his hands, oddly hesitant. “Dean, if my taking the name Winchester has made you uncomfortable—”

“No!’ says Dean. It sounds unconvincing even to his own ears, so he swallows again. A truck whizzes past, ruffling Cas’ coat. “No, I just. There’s usually, you know. Asking involved.”

And Cas _knows_ , he fucking _knows_ what he’s doing, because he shuffles awkwardly on his feet, and hedges: “I asked Sam.”

“It ain’t _Sam_ I’m talking about.”

Cas sighs. He gives Dean a look that suggests he’s trying to parse him out. “If you wish that I had chosen a different name, I… understand,” he says, carefully, “but I thought— That is, I felt that given the nature of our relationship, that you wouldn’t— you have often referred to us as family, Dean—”

Yeah, this won’t do. Dean drops to his knee. Cas shuts the hell up.

Dean’s mouth is _very_ dry. The sun is hot on his skin, and his shirt collar is sticking uncomfortably to his neck, and the gravel is digging into his knee where it’s pressed to the ground. He looks up at Cas, way too nervous, and thinks of something Rowena said. _Shattered_ _at the altar of Winchester_. She was talking about Cas, but, well, same goes, now. Dean gets it.

“What are you doing?” Cas asks. Dean spreads his arms.

“The hell does it look like?”

Proposals are probably meant to be more romantic, thinks Dean with a wince. He doubts gruff shouting is usually involved. Sam probably cried asking Eileen.

“I,” starts Cas, looking bewildered. “Do you want to… marry me?”

“Obviously,” says Dean. “Yeah. Of course. I mean, I’m— I’m on my knees here, dude.”

“Oh,” says Cas. He blinks, once. Dean starts to get jittery.

“Look, it won’t—I’m not saying we do the whole, you know, big shebang, thing, but—we could, I don’t know, do dinner, or a barbeque, or something, with all the—with Sam and Charlie, and stuff, and Eileen, and Jack, and—and Claire, obviously, and Jody, and we could—yeah. If—I mean, if you want, yeah. Of course, dude.”

He risks a look at Cas’ face rather than his tie, which is what he made that big speech to. The look on his face is certainly emotional, and that perks Dean’s spirits up a bit, but the bastard still hasn’t actually _said anything_ , so Dean cuts himself off before he can embarrass himself further.

“ _Well?”_ he demands, and Cas gives him a look equal parts soft and amused.

“You haven’t actually asked.”

“Son of a— _Cas._ I— Will you, uh—”

Dean tries. He really _does_ try, because this is _Cas_ and he’s _important_ , and they wasted way, _way_ too much time already because of their inability to freakin’ _say_ stuff to each other, and this is the first time Dean’s had happiness in his grasp in a long goddamn time, and he’s not gonna give that up just because he’s an idiot and can’t unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth.

“I, uh,” says Dean. “You might have to.”

Cas has the gall to look exasperated, and he gives Dean a roll of his eyes, reaching down to tug on his shoulder. Dean doesn’t want to admit that he needs a little more help than that getting off the ground (he’s forty-two, gravel hurts, give him a break), but he reckons it can be cut out in the edit. Cas slips his hand from his shoulder to his elbow, which is convenient because it helps hold Dean up.

“Dean,” says Cas, amused but also soppy as hell, “Will you marry me?”

“Yeah,” breathes Dean. “Yeah, Cas, of course.”

Cas beams at him. It is stupidly, blindingly, out-of-this-world beautiful. Dean is such a goner. He’s gonna _marry_ this guy.

“You may kiss the bride,” says Cas, with a silly little smile, one corner of his mouth ticked up to high hell. It’s the best thing Dean’s ever seen.

“Hell fuckin’ _yeah_ ,” says Dean, and enthusiastically does so. He bundles his fist up in Cas’ coat, pulling him in, and laughs when he fucks up the angle out of eagerness. Cas noses at him, one hand on his jaw and one on his bicep, gripping tight, and Dean is so fucking happy that he feels like he might explode, or just melt into a puddle right here on the grass. Wouldn’t even matter if he did— Cas’d put him back together. Dean squeezes his eyes shut, focuses on the burning sensation in his chest, and kind of hopes Cas can feel it too. That he knows— just how much Dean loves him. That he’s wanted. Just, loads and loads of sappy stuff that Dean’s spent a long time denying he wanted; to love and be loved in return. And now he gets it all the time.

It’s pretty freakin’ cool.

Once they manage to get themselves back into the Impala, because the car’s good enough cover for getting a little handsy but not anything else, not now Dean’s got joints that crack and gets a stitch going up the stairs, it becomes a question of practicality. Dean can’t face a wedding. Cas doesn’t particularly _want_ a wedding. Dean is, however, fond of getting all of Sam’s ribbing over with in one evening.

“If I have to sit through another round of _I told you so_ s, man, I’m gonna lose it,” says Dean, but his voice is giddy because Cas is holding his hand, and soon enough he’s gonna put a ring on it. “And no way is he getting the chance to do a speech. Can’t have you running out on me ‘cause Sam thinks it’s funny to dredge up my dirty laundry.”

“There is nothing Sam or anyone else could say or do that would cause me to run out on you,” Cas says, earnest, and Dean ducks his head to grin.

“Yeah, I know,” he says, which is kind of a miracle. He squeezes Cas’ hand, looks over to meet his eye. “You know the same goes, right?”

“Yes,” says Cas, but with a smile that says he doesn’t tire of hearing it. His eyes turn fond. “You know, I believe we just exchanged vows.”

Dean’s heart twangs in his chest.

“Well, look at that,” he says, in an attempt to cover up the slightly choked-up nature of his voice. It fails completely. “Turns out we’re not half bad at this, huh?”

“I think we’re doing very well,” says Cas, and Dean decides the highway’s empty enough that he can lean over and kiss him, just briefly. Good thing Jack’s not in the car— Dean didn’t really wanna bust out the ‘do as I say not as I do’ this early, not when he’s trying to teach road safety to the kid on the weekend, and— yeah. Whatever. He’s too preoccupied to think about that right now.

They get back to the house (as cool as the bunker was, Dean was _sick_ of having no sunlight, so he sure as hell did drag Cas and Jack out here, although it probably doesn’t count as dragging when they wanted to come, to a place that actually possesses windows and a front door for the neighbours) and gather up Jack for their round of afternoon TV. Sam and Eileen are ostensibly busy helping with research for a hunt happening a couple of miles South, but Dean thinks that might be Sam trying to get out of it; he’s not a fan of _Riverdale_. Which is fair enough, but at this point Dean’s already invested.

Dean brings Cas a coffee, settling down beside him so Cas is in the middle of the couch; it leaves him able to put one hand on Dean’s thigh, and have the other ready to cover Jack’s eyes. This is a precaution they’ve deemed necessary— neither of them saw Betty’s striptease coming, and that is… _not_ something they want to deal with again. It’s much safer this way.

“How was lunch?” asks Jack while the episode loads, shifting to get comfortable. He tucks his legs up underneath him, a little human gesture that makes Dean’s heart constrict in his throat. Jesus, but this is his _family_. His family’s alive and they’re all under one roof.

“Good,” says Cas, remarkably straight faced. “You may now refer to me as Castiel Winchester.”

Dean’s expecting it, but it still does something to his insides. He shoots a nervous look at Jack, who’s fishing out a red flavoured skittle from his snack bowl, but the kid just seems to take it in his stride.

“Cool,” he says, and then they’re cut off by Jughead monologuing, which means it’s time to shut up and pay attention.

Dean gives himself a week and a half after The Diner Incident to pull himself together and have everyone over for dinner. Cas has a suggestion for what he wants to do, and it’s pretty perfect. For them, anyway. Dean double checks he doesn’t want to extend his foray into human stuff with a proper ceremony, and is relived when Cas gives him a flat look.

“You and I have been making it up since the moment we met,” he says, looking up from the jam he’s boiling on the stove. He gets the raspberries from the woman down the road, in exchange for jars of the honey he’s been making from the bees in the back garden. “Why should this be any different?”

“Point,” says Dean, and kisses him.

They don’t tell anyone about it, because then it _will_ turn into a thing, and Dean’ll be forced to say something sappy _in front_ of people, and he might be getting better at it in private but that doesn’t mean there isn’t an overwhelming urge to run and hide whenever he tries to do it in the presence of other people. Jody’s bringing Claire and Donna up for the day, and Charlie’s driving down, so Dean spends most of the day setting up the spare bedrooms, and then working on the food.

The kitchen’s pretty great, actually, thinks Dean as he manoeuvres around Sam, who’s using the table to study. Way better than the bunker’s, but that might be to do with the sunlight and Cas’ shelf of preservatives, and Jack sitting on the counter, swinging his legs. He hands Dean ingredients as he needs them, explaining his process. When Claire shows up, he makes her help breadcrumb the chicken.

“Hey,” he says, when she goes straight for it, “what are you, a grease monkey? Wash your damn hands.”

“Oh my god,” she mutters, but cleans them in the sink, flicking water at him when she’s done. It gets all over Dean’s shirt, and Cas hands him the tea towel. Eileen nearly walks into the fridge trying to get around him. Sam’s trying to clear space for Jody. There are _way_ too many cooks in Dean’s kitchen, and most of them aren’t even helping. It’s awesome.

“Hey, Cas, fetch me some rosemary, would you?” he asks, and demonstrates to Claire what to do with the chicken. She looks up at him, defiant.

“I’ve killed people, Dean. I can make some chicken strips.”

“Alright, smartass,” says Dean. “Sam, get to work on your quinoa-whatever, I’m not touching that.”

He keeps going with his own job, people bustling around him and the place so warm that he doesn’t even feel a headache coming on when Jack’s playlist starts over again on the speakers, that ridiculous shark song trying to infest Dean’s ears. Cas comes back with the rosemary at the same time Claire offers up a plate of chicken strips, looking kind of pleased with herself.

“Here,” she says, handing it over as Cas puts the rosemary on Dean’s chopping board, and Dean takes the plate, nodding in approval.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he says, and puts it to the side to go in the oven later, trying to clear room on the bench.

“No worries,” says Claire. Cas says, “That’s alright.”

Sam glances up from his quinoa. “ _Wow_ ,” he says. He looks delighted, his mouth twisting from the effort not be all younger-sibling about it. Dean wishes he was literally anywhere else.

Cas goes pink. _Dean_ goes pink. Claire scrunches up her face, glaring at them both like she can’t believe they make her suffer through this stuff. Dean’s actually kind of proud to have put the expression there. That’s his right, right? He’s basically her dad. Or her weird, survivalist uncle, at least.

“Oh, that’s sickening,” she says. “You guys are like, _actually_ disgusting, you know that?”

“Hey,” says Dean, and nearly finishes that up with _it’s my wedding day,_ “Show some respect.”

“To who, my elders?”

“Oh, _burn_ ,” says Sam, and Dean thwacks him upside the head. He probably doesn’t even make a dent because of all that hair protecting it, but whatever. The sentiment stands.

“Alright, that’s it,” says Dean, “everyone get the hell out of my kitchen. Not you, Cas.”

Dinner goes in the oven, and then they all mess around for an hour, catching up and drinking and Dean feeling tremendously fucking sappy, his arm round Cas’ shoulder and Cas burning so, _so_ bright, and he even manages to put his nerves aside all throughout dinner, grilling Charlie about Stevie until he remembers that’ll just make her grill him right back, and then finding he doesn’t care.

“You’ve got a really good set up, Dean,” she says, taking his hand. “I’m so happy for you.”

“Thanks, Charlie,” says Dean, because she’s his best friend, and it’s great. He kind of feels bad about what he’s about to spring on her. Still, he thinks it’ll be worth it. Cas catches his eye after they’ve all helped themselves to desert, Dean’s homemade apple pie sitting devoured in the centre of the table, and raises his eyebrow. Dean nods.

“Go for it,” he says, and tries not to heave the pie back up. Not because he doesn’t _want_ to, it’s just— issues. He’s working on ‘em. It becomes much easier when Cas smiles at him, resting a gentle hand on his knee as he calls for attention.

“As lovely as it is to have seen you all, there was, actually, a particular reason we asked you all here tonight,” says Cas, smiling. He looks to Dean, and nods in encouragement. Dean clears his throat.

“Right,” he says, and fumbles around in his pocket til his clumsy fingers find metal. “Uh, Cas and I wanted to do something, but we’re doing it our way, so. Here you go, man.”

He hands over the ring. Cas beams at him.

“Thank you, Dean.” He produces a matching band. “This is for you.”

“Great,” chokes Dean, and slips the ring on his finger, ears buzzing. He forces himself to look round the table, at the dozen or so stunned faces staring at him, and then settles on Cas, who of course is looking right back, huge smile on his face. Dean swallows, anticipation licking at his heels, both terrible and deeply fucking awesome all at once.

“Um," he says. "We’re not doing vows, so that’s, uh. It.”

There’s dead silence. Dean’s hands are so sweaty that he’s a little afraid the ring’s going to slide off, and that can’t be a good omen.

“Holy shit,” says Sam, and then it’s just— noise. It’s squeals and hugs and a punch in the arm from Claire, and then she tries to give him the _shovel talk_ , of all things, and Sam’s getting all weepy, and Charlie hugs him so tight she nearly cuts off his air supply. Eileen kisses his cheek, and Jack looks between them with endearing sincerity, and it’s Dean’s _wedding day_ , and he’s spending it here, in his home, with his family and all he’s ever wanted, and yeah, sure, they lost stuff to get here, but they found so much, too.

“Kiss!” cries Charlie, as she pours them all drinks. “Kiss, kiss, kiss!”

“Jesus,” laughs Dean, neck hot as everyone else joins in, but he’s grinning, too. Of course he is. He waggles his eyebrows at Cas, and Cas takes him by the jaw, and kisses him soft and sweet, and also a little dirty. His ring his cool against Dean’s cheek. Dean smiles into it, slings his arm round his shoulders, and holds Cas close. There’s cheers. Dean pulls away beaming.

“Alright, alright,” he says, trying to wave them off, “Jesus, calm down, the show’s over.”

And it is. Now it’s just life.

It’s a pretty freaking good one.

**Author's Note:**

> SORRY I JUST LOVE HIM SO MUCH AND I WANT HIM TO BE HAPPY AND YES I DID TEAR UP WHILE WRITING THIS. no character has ever affected me quite so much as dean winchester i simply love him SO MUCH!!!!!!!!!!! HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY OLD MAN <3
> 
> also yes i think dean calls cas man and dude and sunshine and sweetheart and buddy simultaneously while they're married. he's messed up <3
> 
> please yell at me ab dean in the comments or let me know if you enjoyed this! it is born of love & i hope that comes through!!


End file.
